CITY OF DISpair
by Tyrann
Summary: While on a mission, things go terribly awry for Chris when the meeting he's scheduled to break up learns of his presence and drugs the unknowing agent! To make matters worse, Wesker is alive and at the same club


Warnings!: Drug use, male on male (yaoi), violence, and swearing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or its characters in any way, shape or form. Sadly. :(

It is symbolic, the journey through a single door represents. Such as in _Dante's Inferno_ the meaning behind opening and entering the abysmal gates to the nefarious City of Dis. In Dante's world, the gates were a one-way ticket to a hell within hell; a hollow mockery of society and morals, all crammed into a well of corruption. Perhaps then, it was plausible to akin a place of such ilk to the building Chris had just barely entered with a clamor of shouts, hearty shoves, and the smell of musk tinted with the faint fragrance of Old Spice worn by the two bouncers. Though admittedly, as Chris stood dazed and star-struck by the whirling brilliance of strobe lights and glow sticks, the comparison had sounded a lot better when it left Jill's mouth.

Chris strained to hold back a whimsical sigh as he glanced back furtively over his shoulder, barely making out Jill's silhouette in the nondescript van parked out on the street as the doors surged and swelled with teeming tides of adolescents and junkies. Rebounding flashes of light momentarily blinded Chris, and he swept his forearm up over his eyes, trying hard to keep Jill in his sight. The attempt was in vain, however, as an overly eager partygoer jostled Chris off balance and was swept away from the door by the masses. Tranz-metal blared from the speakers, setting dancers to motion with fast-paced steps and close-proximity dancing as the wave forced the brunette male into the thick of the dance floor.

With some difficulty and extra blinking, Chris managed to keep his eyes open to adjust to the sporadic flashes and the darkness left in their wake. Blue eyes squinting as corneas adjusted, he struggled to relocate the front door but couldn't find it with so many bodies thrashing and leaping about. Mirrors lined the side walls, catching the reflections of light and obscuring the way out with purposeful intent. However, an absence of light for a brief second pointed the BSAA agent to a small table where he could sit and collect his bearings. It took effort, and a few well-placed shoves, but he made it through to claim a seat before anyone else could deviate him from his path. Finally sitting down, Chris relished the feel of cool steel against his hands as he placed them on the table. The atmosphere created by the dancers was hot and humid, and all-in-all chaotic with the more violent people causing elbows to fly right into someone's face. Chris whistled low to himself as he fully began to realize why Jill was so hesitant to come here – after all, he stood a better chance against a random blow than Jill would have.

Thinking of the petite brunette brought a smile to Chris' face. True, he had just been with her ten minutes ago, but knowing that Jill was steadily improving despite the incident five months prior brought him the greatest relief. Even Claire was resting easier knowing that the treatments were working to cure their longtime family friend. Though even Claire had to admit, blonde hair had looked pretty amazing on Jill. Something about the way the golden tendrils glinted in the light and caught the sun's rays, turning them into fire-woven fibers of molten gold was dazzling. And then ochre tinted shades with dark frames to complete the look…

Chris startled himself from his reverie as unwanted images began to plague his mind. Scenes purportedly forgotten reenacted themselves out to the agent, and his eyes shut tightly; desperate to use the slight pressure to ease away the burn of regret. Chris' hands left their place on the table, now sweaty and shaking as he pressed his fingers to his temples to soothe away the ache building there. He wouldn't think of that man. It was far better to let the dead carry their grudges then let the living bear the responsibility for their actions. Teeth ground tightly together, Chris shook his head to clear his thoughts and let the music envelop him, if only for a moment. There was a mission to complete, and by the gods, Chris wasn't going to let some monster hinder him from doing his job after waiting several weeks in this shoddy end of town for a meeting to take place.

A small, but determined hand grabbed a hold of Chris' sleeve and interrupted his thoughts. Startled, Chris lifted his head and found that a young woman had strayed from her posse and was now trying to converse with him, her amber eyes filled with intent as a beguiling smile revealed perfect, small teeth. She flipped back her auburn hair with refined grace, suggesting this wasn't her first attempt at using this approach to capture men's attention. Chris offered her a polite smile in return, remembering to appear kindly and charming.

"Hey," he said, gentle reserve lacing his tone, seemingly subdued by the nymph before him. "I didn't see you there…But now I'm sorry that I didn't."

She laughed then, and tried batting sooty eyelashes as she toyed 'innocently' with a lock of shoulder-length hair. "S'okay. I would have missed you myself if a friend hadn't pointed you out."

Chris gave a mirthful laugh back, encouraging the conversation, while thinking to himself at how young this woman clearly was. She allowed herself a seat, not bothering to ask permission and rested her arms fully on the table, making sure to slide forward just enough so the metal caught the fabric of her shirt and dragged it to reveal ample cleavage. The experienced man in Chris blanched, but he outwardly grinned to show approval towards her advances. He couldn't be every young woman's big brother after all, and besides it was possible that this woman held some connection to the dealings that would be going on upstairs in about…twenty-three minutes or so. Plus, she wasn't blonde, and was decidedly a 'she'. Chris struggled to hold back the cringe that shot through his system, and was rewarded by the woman's hand scaling slowly, teasingly up his arm. She eyed the muscle that tensed and stretched beneath the skin and nodded slowly, definitely pleased.

"I was thinking…" she said, nails lightly scratching bronzed skin. "That you could use a little 'upper'. You seem so tense…" Hands retracted suddenly and purposely to retrieve a handbag from beneath the table. Chris eyed the contents warily as she dug through and sorted before puffing "Aha" as she withdrew a simple pin with The Falcon logo on it.

"Thiiiiis…" the woman purred sweetly, leaning forward to clip it to the front of Chris' shirt. "Is only given out to people deemed…worthy."

Although a smile remained plastered to Chris' face, the words made him shudder at the memory they brought. He took note of the pin with slight discomfort, even though there was nothing visibly wrong with it. Aside from the odd texture of the pin, of course. Before he could examine it however, the woman stood up and crossed over to him, latching her arm onto his.

"You and I should dance. That'll surely ease you up, handsome." The seductress blew a kiss to Chris and proceeded to drag him to the floor. The agent let his stance relax and demurely followed; the ever-appearing smitten male.

They mixed with the crowd and used the momentum of the dancing to carry them closer to the speakers, now spitting out some German techno that contained at least 175 bpm. Craning his head towards the sound, Chris didn't pay his companion any mind as he picked up the words "Pach sie, Fich sie…", or whatever the hell it meant. But the crowd seemed to know, and a massive roar of thrill jolted the crowd into a faster pace.

"Hey," the woman crooned, calling Chris' attention back to her. A small pout was formed by her full lips, but she giggled and leaned into the significantly older man. "Try this," she encouraged, using the distraction to place a kiss to Chris' lips. Though put off by the woman's forwardness, Chris didn't have the time to consider the action as she parted his lips and allowed their saliva to mingle.

Immediately, Chris noted a strange taste and drew back from the woman; arm holding her away at length. Blue eyes intensified and hardened; Chris' innate self-preservation instincts kicking into high gear. Hand tightening despite the minx's shrill cry, Chris brought her forward and hissed lowly, "What did you do to me?"

She spat in his face and laughed scornfully as a hand protested the action and began wiping the fluid away. "I only gave you what you deserved, damn BSAA. Let's see how you like having a monster in your body."

Chris' head snapped up and shoulders tensed as a baleful growl built in his throat. She only waved the threat away with a side hand gesture. Placing a chaste kiss to the agent's forehead, she taunted him with her smirk and left him standing there. Angrily, Chris ripped off the button and would have begun heading for the front door to tell Jill about the botch, when his thumb came into contact with a torn section in the pin. It drew his attention instantly, and holding it close for inspection, Chris saw that a part of the pin had been torn to allow access to the paper…

And then everything became so much brighter.

In one moment, the room's dull colors swam to the surface and intensified greatly. The faded brown of the carpet morphed into a blinding beige and red curtains faded by sunlight were augmented into brilliant crimson. The colors would sway and mesh as Chris struggled to find his way out; attempting to steady his stumbling gait as he slowly headed towards what seemed the exit. However, when a heated and trembling hand touched cool surface, Chris' disoriented mind realized that he had run into the mirrors along the side wall and had ignored seeing his own self in the reflective panels. The music throbbed in his ears, and Chris moaned as tension began pressing in at his temples. Everything was too loud, too bright, and the prideful man was forced to admit that he had not been prepared for this.

Anguished eyes sought a haven in the glass as the hand pressed tightly to the surface began to slip and waver, having been used as a support for the quickly failing body. Chris would not surrender to this fiend though; not this demon that had been forcefully administered to his blood system. He gritted his teeth and fought to stand, nearly coming to full height when the music swelled once and then everything was blessedly silent. Lights still danced across the agent's vision, and he exerted one final effort to fight…but grudgingly could only give in as the haze completely shrouded his comprehension and good judgments.

~~)0(~~~)0(~~~)0(~~~)0(~~

Forsaking reason, the flesh sought to derive pleasure and was greeted by a shot mind humming a sickly sweet tune that encouraged pursuing this buzz that had presented itself. The music was enticing, and the mass of undulating bodies that writhed with pleasure to the strains of musical verse and rhythm offered plenty of good company. An addled Chris Redfield couldn't help but make his way to the floor and join in, and was welcomed with open arms by individuals in similar states. Though eyes blinked far too frequently and the body would spasm, the agent felt as if this were the best moment of his life and allowed the drug free reign to do its work. A song began that everyone could understand, and even Chris recalled hearing it once or twice on the radio when he stopped by to visit Claire. The buzz whispered, "dance," and the puppet played to the strings' desire.

_Don't call me Gaga_

_I've never seen one like that before_

_Don't look at me like that_

_You amaze me_

The music swelled to its verse and Chris moved accordingly. Various partners would press against him, use him as support, and it didn't matter they were all smashed by LSD. Somewhere between the bass and Chris' suppressed conscious, a tiny voice tried vainly to remind its body that this wasn't how they acted. Dilated sapphire-hued orbs sought to glance about the room, almost trying to remember what they were supposed to be looking for. But then the strobe lights caught slicked hair the deep color of rich honey and blazed like a flaring nova. Chris' eyes were drawn to the spectacle, and a heavy tongue pressed against teeth, desperately trying to form a word. /_NO!_/ The mind screamed, begging the body to listen.

Slowly and purposely, the realest of all monsters strode through the masses of the next-best thing to zombies. One gloved hand rose slightly to coax hair back into perfection, and sunglasses glistened with refracted light as a cool smirk presented itself on a chiseled face.

_Look at him_

_Look at me_

_That boy is bad_

_And honestly_

_He's a wolf in disguise_

Even stoned out of their minds, women would stop mid-dance to watch this unearthly Adonis pass by, and some would extend their hands only to withdraw for fear that this person was only a figment of their LSD-high imagination. But even kicked and beat into a pulp by a drug, Chris' mind could still rationalize and acknowledge that the fact that others could see what he was seeing actually meant that it was there. Again, the voice urged him /_Run!_/. But he stood there among the entranced and continued their swaying dance; feeling the trepidation and anticipation build almost painfully in his chest. And then the sunglasses were granted privilege to slide down just a bit; enough so that the lights could glint in the snake-like eyes like cold, faceted rubies that trained straight on Chris.

_But I can't stop staring in those evil eyes_

The perfectly sculpted lips that were set in a cruel smirk highlighted those eyes and defined them in a canvas of alabaster skin. The look in those eyes reprimanded, mocked, and allured Chris all at once, and though stoned, even the body could recall the grievances brought against it by this one man. Lips drawn tight into a thin line quavered with anger, and the agent's eyes were bright like midsummer sky as they glazed with anger and scorn. This new development seemed hardly to faze the tyrant, and he continued striding towards Chris, stopping only when he stood mere inches from his dancing counterpart.

Porcelain lips parted to reveal a crocodile grin that would have sent any other person along their merry way. Chris stood his ground, retaining his iron will and pride that had been imprinted into his character. He stubbornly continued to dance, even going as far as to take his eyes away from Wesker.

"I almost feel…disappointed in you, Christopher." It wasn't a statement so much as a taunt to cut straight to Chris' ego.

"I'm disappointed too," Chris replied nonchalantly, wincing slightly as the colors seemed to intensify again. "You made one hell of a firework. So much for the finale."

Wesker gave a bark of laughter that didn't match the expression in his eyes at all. "Chris, you never learn, do you? I told you, I couldn't die. There was never a finale to begin with…and quite frankly, I loathe watching you humiliate yourself like this, in my presence, no less."

Chris bit his cheek and tried to stem the anger that threatened to surge from his recalcitrant tongue. He tried instead to let the colors sweep him away again, but already Chris could feel his sanity creeping back through the crevices left unguarded by LSD. And once he was himself again, Chris knew he wouldn't ever be able to face Wesker down for this if he didn't fight back now.

"I never sought your approval." The hiss barely left Chris' mouth as little more than a whisper, but Wesker picked it up distinctly.

Stone-faced as ever, the rebuttal was swift and precise. "And yet time and time again, you bent over backwards to my every whim…" With a slight upturn to the corner of his smirk, Wesker concluded, "even in unprofessional circumstances."

The thirty-five year old released a snarl, but refused to stop what he was doing and turned his back to the tyrant. Wesker eyed his form, noting the tremors that cascaded like water down the other's spine. A disapproving frown tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he clamped a weighted hand on the agent's shoulder. Said male tried to shake loose from the grip, thrashing about like a stallion as his dance was interrupted.

"You can't possibly be serious about keeping this charade up," Wesker snarled, forcefully turning Chris to meet his eyes. "This is an insult to both you and me. You don't dare let some drug control you in ways I couldn't, Christopher!"

Chris recoiled, the bitter statement visibly hitting home as he blinked wide eyes at his nemesis.

"Are you actually admitting something for once?"

The tyrant ignored the rejoinder, and began tugging Chris towards the direction of the front door. Chris stubbornly refused to cooperate, attempting to thwart Wesker by digging his heels into the floor or pulling his arm back. The dark-clad man swiveled about in fury, eyes ablaze as he stared his former employee.

"Don't you understand, you imbecile! This is no place for you, and I will not tolerate your being here any longer!" Wesker yelled, words practically dripping venom.

Chris let his fist fly, hitting Wesker squarely in the jaw. Sunglasses were dislodged and lost beneath trampling feet as Chris returned the menacing stare.

"I'm not going with you anywhere, you bastard! Stop pretending like you care!" Chris growled, pointedly stomping away; acting the ever petulant child under the LSD's influence.

This time the B.O.W lashed out with a fearsome grip that could crush bone as it tightened over the agent's shoulder once more. Chris let out a harsh cry as bones felt like they were grinding into one another as Wesker drew in close to whisper words into his ears.

"You should feel grateful, Chris, that I've wasted this much time on you already." Uncovered eyes bore holes into the agent's own, alight with malice and impatience. "I could very well leave you here like this, a quivering, asinine mockery of the man that trained under me. But I suppose even I'm not cruel enough to abandon you without your heroine."

That caught Chris' addled attention, and he willed himself into compliance as he finally turned to face Wesker.

"What do you mean?" Chris asked, panic in his voice. The colors surged again, and dizziness flooded the senses. "Where's Jill?"

Wesker shook his head, tsking sardonically as laughter crept into his voice. "I suppose she was chased off about half an hour ago by the hounds working for that vixen that put you into this mess. Seems the management upstairs didn't like you BSAA prowling about."

Chris' crippled thoughts pieced together enough to acknowledge that Jill could handle her own and was probably already a safe distance away. He could feel his left eye twitching, but mutely followed Wesker obediently as they again began to leave the club. The fiend himself muttered something about drug addicts and their damn raves under his breath as he, ironically enough, led Chris to safety.

Once outside, the cool night air was a slap to Chris' sensitized face. But he drank the air greedily, the purity of it clearing away some of the fog that clouded his mind. But Wesker was still for only a moment, deliberating carefully before leading his partner in the general direction of the city subway.

The street lights gave off a muted glow, dimly guiding the duo along twisted sidewalks cracked with age and moss. Graffiti lined the walls of crumpling buildings that reeked of cat piss and accumulated garbage left to marinate in the heat of day. The essence of the downtown part of the city was filled with despair and doubt, and Chris hated it just as much as he hated the man he was following.

"So where are we going?" Chris coughed, throat suddenly dry. With only a tilted head as any indication Wesker had heard him, there was no other indicator as the man leading him remained silent. Chris took it well enough, seeing as he was happier with no response just now. His head had started throbbing again, and he was tempted to introduce his face to a pole standing about twelve feet away. But he realized that the afore mentioned object was actually supporting a subterranean entrance to the subway station, not bothering to read the canopied sign for validation, frankly because it was canary yellow and bright as hell.

"Where are we going this late at night?" Chris pressed more firmly now, trying to read anything in the tyrant's body posture that might give him a clue.

Again, the question was ignored for the most part, and Wesker led them both down the stairs, to a terminal to purchase tickets, before settling comfortably on the seats aboard a train. The agent, despite the tiny pricks of pain registering in his head from all the lighting, took in his surroundings and found himself and his guide to be the only late-night passengers in this compartment. His only companion was blatantly thwarting any attempt at casual conversation, but neither one really wanted to start an argument just now. Still, silence wasn't Chris' strong point.

Obsessed with the intricacies of the inter-woven design on the seat, Chris played with it as he considered talking to his enemy, if only for the background noise. He gave the other man a sidelong glance, taking in his clothing and statuesque features, when a memory hit. They sat like this once, on a bench in the shower room, both redressing themselves after a long session in the wrestling room. No one else had been around, and that was the first time Chris had ever snuck a kiss to his captain in their work place. The memory of playfulness, anticipation, and slight fear of getting caught caused a slight smile to worm its way onto Chris' worn face, but he tried to hide it as the feelings stirred another reaction from his lower anatomy. Yes, he and Wesker used to have some daring _exploration_ after work hours.

Perhaps just possessing a talent for sensing stray thoughts, Wesker glanced back at Chris and noted the absent look on his face. "This isn't the time to daydream, Chris." The former captain chastised, his British accent flowing gracefully as he spoke.

Chris jumped, not wanting to be caught with his thoughts, and tried subtly to cross his legs as his face dead-panned. "I'm not," he protested a bit nastily, forgetting his ears often betrayed him in circumstances involving his ex-captain.

The tyrant spotted the tell-tale red tinge, and he smirked as one gloved hand extended the pointer finger to run along the outer shell. "Really now?" He asked, feral eyes glinting. The intensity of his gaze caused Chris to look away, the shade of his ears darkening significantly.

"Shouldn't you be killing me now?" Chris tried to throw the subject off as his hand clamped over his exposed ear. "We're all alone, and no one knows where the hell I am."

Wesker snorted derisively and waved the notion off. "No challenge," he said, folding his arms across his tight, alligator-skin shirt. "And," he added, smirk returning. "Not as fun as watching you squirm to hide your feelings for me."

Chris leapt from his seat, retreating across the aisle with a stumble as his enemy bayed with laughter. Face pale and ears strawberry red, Chris fumbled to explain his actions away. "N-no!" He shouted, his own voice hurting his ears. "It's t-the LSD! It's causing damn flashbacks! Fuck, you're supposed to be dead anyway. What the fuck does it matter?"

Despite the shouted tirade, Wesker merely shrugged and met Chris' eyes. "I suppose it doesn't matter that you have leftover feelings for me, possibly from _regret_ over killing me," he stated calmly, picking at some substance on his matching pair of pants. "But then again, it could be the drug doing this, if you really want to lower yourself to self-denial."

"Fuck you!" Chris yelled, stomping back over to stand above the tyrant. "This is all a damn hallucination! There's no way you could be here now!"

The glare Chris received was ominous as Wesker slowly, deliberately rose to stand just a few inches taller. Snake eyes turned crimson faced off dilated blue as the tyrant began to speak.

"Yes, I could be your…_imagination_, dear heart," he slowly spat out the word, continuing. "But know this: whatever the circumstance, I am your shadow come to plague you. Any moment of weakness; I am the nagging doubt that pierces your hope. I AM the ghost that stalks you, but I AM very real, and I do so love to see you suffer."

"I will _never_ die," he whispered, drawn in close to Chris' face, hovering only momentarily before stooping in to place an obsessive kiss to the agent's quivering lips.

The kiss stunned Chris as LSD brought a million pinpricks of light before his eyes, and he whimpered in pain as his mouth was forced open to welcome the invader's tongue. All the moist caverns of his mouth were explored in-depth as the organ fought and soothed against his own, swiping now and again across his bottom lip. When Wesker deemed it suitable to withdraw, Chris stood shaking against him, arms numbly fixed around bare arms for support as he drew in shaky breaths to his dry throat. As the agent tried to recover from the overload of LSD and stimulation, Wesker balled up a fist and swiftly decked him in the jaw, watching as the agent flew back into the door of the compartment.

Chris shook his head as his vision cleared, though his head was in a world of hurt as he glared back at his nemesis. "What the fuck was that for?" He demanded, hands pressed tightly to his forehead.

A swirl of black and Wesker crouched just over the prone man, eyes fixed on the other's face. A gloved hand gently caressed the skin, though the gesture was not shared by the expression in those eyes as he stated, "Just returning the favor."

As Chris tried to growl and push the offending tyrant away, the same hand dropped to the crook of his neck and moved him forward into another kiss. When Chris fought back, hands tightening around the tyrant's neck, his forcible lover withdrew and laid another blow to his face. Chris shouted as his nose experienced a blinding pressure that brought lights to his eyes even as a trickle of blood began to flow. A dollop hovered over the curl of peach lips, and Wesker dove in to lick the enticing fluid as he prompted another kiss that demanded compliance from his partner.

Never one for orders, Chris used his left knee to push against the aggressor's chest to gain enough leverage to place a sloppy kick to unguarded ribs. The action was only the slightest nuisance as it granted the barest reprieve from the kiss before Wesker was back; one hand digging iron fingers into the soft nook of Chris' knee, while the other clamped tightly against the pressure point in Chris' neck. Stars were flashing in the brunette's eyes as darkness began to mist over, and he could feel his appendages growing numb as they offered no resistance to the man clad in black. However, before Chris could slip into blissful unconsciousness, Wesker relinquished his hold and left the agent blinking to clear his eyes.

"For all of the fight you're giving," Wesker drawled, a taut hand moving from the knee to a leg as it lifted the appendage over his shoulder. "You seem to desire this more than you let on."

Chris puffed, rolling his neck around to unsettle the spots of numbness that had gathered from Wesker's hold. A finely arched eyebrow quirked at the agent's attempted indifference, and Chris could feel the laughter reverberate in his adversary's chest. Wesker broke the charade by sliding in close, allowing his heated groin to grind against the brunette's own straining erection. Chris jumped, mostly from the action itself, but also from the feverish heat that accompanied most B.O.W's. Half-lidded eyes sought desperately to avoid the tyrant's, but another gloved hand drew the chin back, allowing the two enemies to face one another in fate's ill-humored encounters.

The subway train came to a gradual stop, allowing the slight tremors to cause friction between the two men coiled together on the floor. Wesker nuzzled Chris' face, reveling in the hot pants that escaped parted lips to graze over his cheekbones.

"Your hotel's not all that far from here, if I recall right." The tyrant muttered against a heated ear, blowing cool puffs against the sensitive flesh and watching the slight jumps that would result from the action.

The agent huffed and tried to disentangle himself from the monster that lay with him, but Wesker's firm hands pressed tightly to keep him to the floor. Chris gave him an exasperated look and frowned, seeming recovered despite the slight jerking of his left arm. His pride told him to fight back, but he was just so damn tired of this façade, probably due to the drug for the most part. Rolling his eyes and fucking his ever-living pride, Chris informed the tyrant, "You can do whatever the hell you want. It's not like you ever asked for permission anyway." His cheeks however, flushed from the excitement, again betrayed his feigned indifference.

A Cheshire-grin crossed Wesker's face, eyes glinting devilishly as he allowed the agent to stand before he himself rose to his feet. "But you wouldn't have it any other way…" Wesker purred, moving to let his lips brush against Chris' ear once more. "Would you, dear heart?"

~~)0(~~~)0(~~~)0(~~~)0(~~

From the subway, Chris and Wesker had moved to the hotel where Chris was staying. They avoided attention by entering through the staff entrance and then riding the employee elevator up to the right floor. This late at night, no one had been wandering the hallways, and the duo had gotten to Chris' room without interruption. Though once in, Chris' rapidly recovering mind began to question the actions he was taking. Wesker had moved swiftly into the room, silently appraising it, and temporarily forgot Chris, who stood directly behind him. Hoping the man was too distracted to notice, Chris slid his hand along the wooden counter to his left towards his ragged duffel bag where his handgun was waiting with a preloaded clip.

Even as calloused, bronzed fingers slid around the grip, Chris was met with a harsh reality as he felt a closed fist slam directly down in the junction of his elbow and lower arm. Fingers immediately loosened as Chris hissed and stumbled back into the entryway doubled over, left arm slack as the tendon and bone ached fiercely. Head lifting, Chris met snake-eyes that glared with vexation.

"I am pleased to note that the drug has begun to wear off, Christopher," Wesker remarked, tone flat as he approached the agent and a hand skimmed the counter where the duffel bag blaringly sat. He paused for but a moment, retrieving the ill-fated weapon to lightly examine the smooth grip and polished barrel. "Always the Beretta fan, eh Chris?" The nonchalant comment drifted to Chris, making the agent uneasy as he heard the slight implication. Blue eyes blinked as Wesker suddenly lashed towards him, Beretta held high as the barrel struck full-force against bone, causing tears to well up and draw a cry from peach lips as a loud crack resounded throughout the room.

Chris' hand flew up to his cheekbone, eliciting another harsh cry of pain as he felt the cracked surface surge with fiery ache. The tyrant loomed before him, and as Chris drew in a breath to curse as he began to charge his attacker, he was grabbed by the front of his shirt and thrown roughly into the bed's headboard. The wood shattered from impact, and Chris howled as he felt a long shard pierce the side of his abdomen, ripping through the top layer of muscle and sinew. The agent panted hoarsely as the pain coursed through his body, but was unable to move from where he lay prone on the bed. Wesker towered over him, shadow cascading over the bedspread and scattered wooden remnants as he outstretched one arm that swept Chris from his spot to the carpeted floor. Again Chris let out a cry of pain as he landed on his injured side, and he curled inwardly from the shooting ache as the tyrant began to approach.

Wesker stooped down and let a gloved hand trail along Chris' side, listening with a malicious delight as the agent's pants hitched and sputtered from pain as a trembling hand swatted at him in vain. He chuckled then, and Chris shivered from head to toe as the hair on his neck rose from the blatant display of cruelty. The tyrant then took a firm hold of the brunette's crippled arm and mockingly ran his tongue up towards the palm. Even in pain Chris could feel the nerves tingle pleasantly from the contact, and he glowered at Wesker from where his head rested next to the bedpost.

"Quit your damn games, Wesker," Chris growled, breathing heavy as he tried to relax his tightening abdomen. Any trace of LSD in Chris' system could only be detected in the way his body would typically spasm, and even then it was easy to confuse the symptom with the shivers caused by pain. The agent's mind was clear from the intense pain his body was enduring, and he openly challenged Wesker to cause him more.

A bay of laughter greeted Chris, and the agent gritted his teeth to prevent himself from reacting. Wesker chuckled as he slowly removed his gloves, one hand at a time. "It's your own fault that you're in this predicament," The dark clad man stated, hands ghosting under Chris' worn beige shirt to bunch the fabric up. "I believe you might be a bit of a masochist, Christopher."

The tyrant stretched over Chris, arms pushing the cloth up and over the ridges and planes of well-defined muscles. A bit of the material caught on Chris' speared side, and he hissed as his stomach began tightening in response. Wesker bent forward and dipped his tongue into the brunette's navel, lightly dragging the organ against tiny hairs as he moved around to start nipping at the taut muscles, earning a shaky breath from the man beneath him. Chris' legs began to relax and unintentionally spread to welcome the tyrant between his thighs, savoring the feverish heat of the other's groin against him. Wesker took full advantage of the vulnerability; inclining forward enough to press heated kisses against his partner's jugular as he began to rock their hips together at a leisurely pace.

Chris let out breathy moans, eyes clouded over in a blue haze as his good hand twined into gelled-back hair, tangling golden strands together in a tight fist as his hips bucked pleasurably into the heat overtaking him. His left arm still ached miserably, and though Chris was royally pissed and fit to kill, the truth was far simpler to obey. He had missed this; had missed the submission inflicted upon him by this monster that had so often taken him to bed. Certainly, he would come to regret this choice he'd made tomorrow, but perhaps for one night he could live for the moment.

Porcelain hands moved heatedly across tanned flesh to the clasp of denim jeans, pausing momentarily to flick open the clasp before lightly teasing over the agent's covered erection. The touch made Chris jump a bit and he struggled to bite back a moan as Wesker palmed him; B.O.W heat encasing Chris' organ as it began throbbing with need. From some pocket, Wesker brought out a knife and held the blade to Chris' eyes; catching his eyes with the enticing glint of the metal. Slowly; purposely he drew the cool metal over planes of twitching muscle until its progress was halted by the boxers Chris wore. The blade was flipped to its serrated edge and sliced downward; catching occasionally on fabric as it tore loudly past cloth and into the denim seat of the jeans' crotch. The tyrant then eased his hands down to the split he'd made and ripped it effortlessly apart; ruining the jeans and successfully exposing his lover to eager eyes.

The cool air ran over Chris' exposed tip and a droplet of clear fluid gathered and was swept away by Wesker's thumb as he lifted the digit to his lips and sampled his partner. The dark clad man rumbled in approval as he drifted a lazy hand down to Chris' prick and fisted the desperate organ; pumping up and down slowly from the balls to the red tip before squeezing the sensitive crown. Chris' hips rose to meet the strokes but were halted by a firm hand that tightened over the hip bones to refrain such action. Wesker lifted his head and pressed it against Chris' own; nuzzling their noses together affectionately as Chris panted from the attention administered by a skilled hand. Chris took the effort to capture his former captain's lips, biting the lower one teasingly and following up with a swipe of his tongue in a request for entrance. He was denied as Wesker took the reins, pressing his free hand to the back of Chris' neck and forcing him forward into a deep, open-mouthed kiss.

Sweat coursed its way down the straining veins in Chris' neck, slowly trekking its way past bronzed pecs and abs, and down to the base of umber curls as the agent came closer to his climax. Still, Wesker antagonized him with that slow, steady pace and Chris could feel the pressure in his lower belly tightening and begging for release. Leisurely, the tyrant lifted two graceful fingers to Chris' hot mouth and let himself shudder as the brunette sensually sucked and lapped at the digits. The compliance brought a toothy grin to Wesker's face, and he permitted his hand to squeeze and knead Chris' sack, enjoying the husky moan that resulted before trailing his index finger up the main vein while applying pressure. Chris jolted, and Wesker chuckled lowly as he initiated another kiss, his fingers moving to lower territory where Chris willingly parted his legs for him to reach.

The deft fingers tickled and prodded Chris' pucker before sliding in gently, and the brunette moaned in slight discomfort and yearning as he pulled Wesker closer, allowing bronze skin and caramel nubs to rub along the silken texture of his lover's shirt. Their kiss continued unspoiled as fingers worked the pliant orifice to accommodate the tyrant, and Wesker readily released his partner's dick to seek his own release. Chris heard the stimulating sound of a zipper being tugged down, and he raised his head as his good arm rubbed Wesker's bare one in anticipation.

"I do believe it's been…a while," Wesker mumbled as he slid himself in past the tight ring of muscle before halting to let his partner adjust. He sighed in pleasure, fiery eyes hazing over in lust as his hands rested on either side of Chris' head. Chris only nodded; face drawn as teeth gritted to the reaction of his body being stretched. He hadn't thought Wesker would skip out on lube, but it just goes to show you how lazy a couple could get when they hadn't been together for so long.

Wesker gradually forced the rest of his thick member in, and Chris eased out a breath he'd been holding before his right hand latched onto the soft skin of the tyrant's neck and shoulder. When the tyrant withdrew only to snap his hips forward, Chris mumbled incoherently as the organ brushed against that spot inside of him with that ungodly heat. Carpet irritated the skin of Chris' back, but the agent didn't really give a flying fuck as he former captain plowed in and out of him at a pace that had his balls drawing tightly up against his body. The carpet caught several times on the injured side, but Chris only gasped in pleasure as the pain mixed wondrously with the stimulation of his prostrate.

Hands clenched the floor on either side of Chris' head as Wesker panted languidly from the tightness that kept clamping around his dick, but he was no fool to know that he would require a bit more from his partner to reach his climax. For now though, he was content with letting Chris orgasm first, and drifted his hand up to the neglected organ thrusting futilely into his shirt. The brunette hissed in delight, arching back to meet the strokes against his prostrate and up into the hand massaging his sensitive length. Eyes darkening to an indigo hue, Chris sputtered and cried out as his tip turned an angry shade of red before shooting his seed into the material of Wesker's shirt.

With Chris barely just finished, Wesker pulled out from his lover's enticing body and forced him to flip over onto his hands and knees. Though Chris' left arm protested and trembled from the force, the tyrant was back in and delving deep and hard as he started to growl with the beginning of his own release. Chris' teeth ground painfully together as his body screamed at the rough intrusion, but he endured it even as his side split and began to bleed lightly.

The tyrant heard his lover groan from pain, and the action caused the virus in him to draw out the psychotic rage he'd been holding back. A wave of heat coiled and sprang from his heart to his appendages as fingers strained to tear and maim. Porcelain hands itched to snap the neck before him, or to crush the spine and bash the head in as he reached climax; the coppery scent of blood ripe in the air and mixing with the musk of sex. But Wesker held back; determined to let his only rival survive the throes of lovemaking without fear. After all, he wouldn't want Chris to die here when there were so many things he could still do to the agent.

Chris, realizing something may be wrong, decided it would be in his best interest to help his lover come. The brunette cringed from the intense heat he felt inside him, but he slowly changed the positioning so that he sat in the tyrant's lap with back to chest. Chris lifted himself before slamming back down, biting back a cry as he felt something tear from the action. Wesker seemed to get the intention fully and took over; using his strength to lift and bring Chris' down onto his painful erection. When he came, the guttural moan he released echoed in Chris' ear, but the brunette was far too tired to face his lover and weakly crawled away before passing out on the carpeted floor.

~~)0(~~~)0(~~~)0(~~~)0(~~

When Chris awoke in the morning, he was aware of the many aches shooting throughout all of his body. He groaned, but noticed with slight relief that he could once more use his left arm, though it hurt like a bitch. His mouth was dry as well, but Chris was only dimly concerned with that as it became apparent that the LSD seemed to have flushed completely out of his system. The agent began the painful process of rising to his feet, when he realized that someone had been decent enough to cover him with a blanket.

However, now that it was daylight, Chris could see that he would be the one left to explain and provide the expense for the repairs. Blood and semen had pooled onto the carpet and dried, while the headboard was near annihilated and its remains scattered all along the bedspread. On top of that, Chris spied a little slip of paper that hadn't been there last night. It lay innocently on top of the pile of splinters, but Chris recognized the curled lettering to be Jill's. He paled considerably, and saw that the letters were bold and large; fully intending to be noticed.

"YOU HAVE A LOT OF EXPLAINING TO DO."

Chris groaned and sat on the bed, careful to avoid wooden shards. The only thing he could really tell Jill was the simple fact that he'd let a monster in his bed.

FIN!


End file.
